Sartre could have only been senseless.
He never could have known a sunset,
a rainbow, or the scent of lilacs in May.
I have often specualted about what Sartre
was likely to become in his next incarnation.
After lengthy contemplation, I concluded that
he would write articles for mass-market tabloids.
'Caterpillar-like extraterrestrials land
in the San Fernando Valley and spawn
multitudes of offspring with Hollywood starlets.'
'New York City gargoyles spring to life
and seize command of the Staten Island Ferry.'
The inevitable sequels to 'Nausea'
and 'Existentialism and Human Emotion.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This made me laugh. A very insightful look into the man if he were around today.
I agree with you here..